


Pet

by LizzieHopscotch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, HP: EWE, Non DH Compliant, Non-Graphic Violence, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 21:32:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzieHopscotch/pseuds/LizzieHopscotch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voldemort has won the war. Now to collect his spoils.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> See Profile for Disclaimer

The battle had raged for two days, both sides exhausted magically and physically. The fury of the spells may had abated some as their energies drained, but the danger was still great and people still fell as curses engulfed them. In the midst of it all, Hermione Granger fought. The bodies of her opponents surrounded her, some stunned most dead, but even her vast power was waning. 

A lull in the battle allowed her a rare glimpse of the chosen one and the Dark Lord as they duelled. Masks of fury covered their faces, wands were raised to continue their battle, and then the lull was over. Hermione forced herself to move as Dolohov barrelled towards her. Having failed at overpowering her magically, he now resorted to the tactics of muggles – the people he so despised.

His attack, however, halted as the deranged laugh of the Dark Lord echoed over the battle field, freezing incantations in their caster’s throats. Movement ceased. Wands were lowered. A stunned hush descended. Had he done it? Had the Dark Lord finally defeated The-Boy-Who-Just-Wouldn’t-Die?

It was Neville who moved first. Brave, foolish, brilliant Neville who threw himself headlong back into the fight. The rest of the Light followed his lead. The battle started again in earnest, the last stand of the Light. They had nothing to lose now that Harry’s body was cooling in the mud. Some ran, like the coward Mundungus Fletecher, but others like Molly Weasley were striking death eaters even as their blood was boiling in their veins. 

But Hermione ignored all this. A feral scream was torn from her throat and Death Eaters cowered before her rage. But that same rage that made her so powerful was also her downfall. In amidst the flurry of spells cast she failed to notice the heavy form of Fenrir Greyback hurtling towards her. He tackled her to the ground,using his immense strength to pin her completely. Had she been thinking she would have been able to cast effectively, but her magic was out of control. It lashed out without purpose, like small fists beating against his much larger frame. That didn’t stop her though. She clawed against him, bucking away from his body, even as her wand was snapped. All around her, Order members were surrendering and dying, but the spectacle of an enraged Hermione still drew a jeering crowd. 

The weight on her back vanished as the first spell hit her. Then the next, and the next one, and the next one. Her blood boiled, her skin stretched, her limbs swelled, her lungs constricted. Through it all she screamed, from rage, from agony. But mostly from grief. 

The curses ceased and darkness loomed. Hermione fought it, just as she had always done, but this time the darkness won and the battle was over.

~*~

When Hermione awoke she wished she hadn’t. During her sojourn into unconsciousness someone had put her into a tomblike room. There was no light, no sound, not even a smell carried on a small draft of air. She could not even rely on touch, as magic kept her suspended in the air. 

“Hello?”

She could feel the vibration in her throat, but no sound reached her ears. The dark suddenly seemed to close in around her, smothering her in despair. She started to scream against it. She screamed until her throat was raw but still no sound was heard. But the pain of her vocal chords let her know she was still alive.

There was no way to tell how long she was in there, except the nagging from her stomach, but even that faded as her body adapted to starvation. Intellectually she knew the limits of her body that she needed water and food to survive, but time was impossible to tell in the never ending dark, so the limits became meaningless. So Hermione lived on in the blackness, unaware of anything, but consumed with memories of the dead.

_Percy Weasley_

_Neville Longbottom_

_Charlie Weasley_

She remembered warm hands turning frighteningly cold.

_Dean Thomas_

_Remus Lupin_

_Pavarti Patil_

She saw bright laughing eyes fade.

_Hannah Abbott_

_Cho Chang_

_Luna Lovegood_

She felt their blood on her hands.

_Rubeus Hagrid_

_Seamus Finnegan_

_Ginny Weasley_

She welcomed the blissful peace of sleep so she could forget their accusing faces. How dare she survive where others died. She heard their accusations, she failed them, she let them die. Why should her dirty blood still tarnish the earth?

_Ronald Weasley_

_Harry Potter_

Her loudest accusers. Her greatest failure.

The darkness swallowed it all.

~*~

After a while Hermione began to forget. The endless litany of names became easier to bear as name after name drifted away. It was simpler to live in the dark, there was no one to know and no one to leave. It felt better than that crushing grief and guilt that had once held her. The gnawing in her stomach was gone, her punishingly dry throat non-existent. The dark that had once terrified her now held her safely where there was only numb comfort.

That was when the voice started.

It held a strange sibilance, but who was she to judge? Was that how people spoke now? A way to imitate their great lord?

“Are you hungry?” it asked.

Hermione shrugged. None of the others had asked her that, merely taunted her with her own insignificance. This voice, whoever it was, would soon do so and then leave as had all the rest of the people she once held in her head. There was, therefore, very little point in responding.

“Are you thirsty?” it continued.

Hermione frowned but remained unresponsive. Why was this voice, still unfamiliar to her, breaking the pattern?

“Will you not answer me, little witch?”

She shook her head.

“Why ever not?”

Hermione paused. The voice was…new. She was sure she’d never heard of it before. Was this a delusion? Had the darkness finally pervaded her mind fully? She decided to remain silent. Her Granny always told her that only the crazy people answered the voices in their heads. The conversation gave them uppity ideas about a continued existence.

“I could take that discomfort away you know.”

Hermione briefly imagined what it would be like to have water again, to have her throat cooled by the sweet liquid. She opened her mouth to answer, to cry yes, yes give me water!

Overwhelming fear overcame her.

Suppose that this voice was in her head, and not real as she had started to fancy. Then her hopes would be dashed when no water was forthcoming, sending her further into the numb embrace of the dark. 

But perhaps more terrifying – what if the voice was real? What if, by some remarkable twist, the voice was telling the truth, and could bring her that oh-so-desired water? Hermione froze. The question of how the water would get to her rose in her mind. Someone would invade her sanctuary, or she would be forced to leave. Hermione shrank in herself and resolved to never answer, even as the voice called out promising water. 

The surrounding dark was her sanctuary, and soon it would be her tomb.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione was not sure why she was still alive. Surely it had been more than 3 days since the Final Battle. Not a drop of water had passed her lips since then, so why was she still breathing?

Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she was in hell. This was her punishment for failure. She let them die. She didn’t save them. She deserved damnation.

“How is my little witch today?”

The voice had returned. It did so sporadically, never giving her a clue as to the passing of time.

“You probably can’t speak any more.”

Hermione shook her head. She had long since given up her unresponsive ways. The voice and the dark were her constants. Losing either of them scared her.

“Would you like some water?” Hermione froze. That was the question she never answered. Without water she would eventually die.

“There’s no point in killing yourself like this.” 

The voice did that often, responding as though it had heard her thoughts. Which made sense, Hermione thought, since this was only an auditory delusion. 

“I will keep you alive, little witch.”

Hermione frowned. That shouldn’t be possible. There was no way to keep someone alive without water. Unless, there was something feeding her water that she couldn’t see. Something like a muggle IV? She couldn’t see or feel in the dark, so maybe that was the answer.

The voice laughed. “Do you really think I’d stoop so low as to use _muggle_ means? Think, little witch, what are you?”

A witch of course. That was the reason behind the endearment. It was a stupid question really. It had no point. She was a witch and she used-

 _Magic_. 

She was kept alive by magic, dark magic no doubt.

Hermione wanted to scream. Why couldn’t she die? Why couldn’t she join her friends?

“I don’t want you to die.”

The voice pierced through her self-pity. 

“I want to keep you safe and happy. I want to make you strong.”

Strong? 

Strength was key in this world. If she was strong then she could survive. But strength was not needed anymore. The fight was done, the war won. 

“Wrong.” The voice hissed. “The war will never be done. There are still those that fight.”

Fight? There were survivors?

“Have I given you hope little witch?”

Yes, the voice had. Hermione could feel the warm rush beneath her breast. Some of her friends were still alive! She could help them, repent for her failures. They could bring her out of the dark.

“Save you? It’s been a month, my dear.”

Impossible.

“Oh it is. Whilst you have been tormented in the dark, your friends have toasted your noble sacrifice. They think you dead.”

Is she dead? Hermione likes the thought of being dead. No one to bother her. No one hurt her. Just peaceful oblivion.

“Is that not what you have now, Hermione? You are trapped in the dark. Is that not oblivion?”

Hermione wasn’t sure. 

“I could keep you safe. I could make you happy. I could give you that peace.”

At what cost?

“You would be mine.”

Hermione thought for a moment. He would own her, is that something she wanted? 

“I will keep you safe from those who would wish you harm.”

That would be good, Hermione agreed, she was sure that there were many who wished her ill. Especially with her mudblood status.

“I will give you that peace you so desire, by giving you someone who you can look to for all things.”

It sounded so tempting. That was what she wanted. She wanted someone to take care of her. All her life she had been taking care of herself, of others. Now this voice was offering to give her what she craved. The peace of knowing she could rely on someone completely, and that they would take responsibility for her.

“Do you want to come with me, Hermione, out of the dark?”

Hermione nodded.


	3. Chapter 3

The light was soul destroying. Hermione croaked in discomfort as the darkness was washed away violently and replaced with revealing light. Her eyes burned, despite them being hidden by tightly shut lids. 

She flinched as hands rested lightly on her shoulders, so unused to the touch of another. 

“Open your eyes, little witch, the light won’t you now.”

Hermione doubted that, but then, the voice hadn’t lied to her before.

She opened them hesitantly, prepared to screw them shut once more.

Red.

Her vision was swimming with red.

She missed the face surrounding them, she was focused solely on the red slashes of eyes. The first colour she’d seen in so long. 

“Better?” the voice, the man, asked. Hermione jerked back to reality, focusing on the face before her. An obviously tall man knelt in front of her, a neat head of dark hair with an obviously handsome face. The red eyes were the only clue that there was something special about this man.

“My dear?”

She nodded hesitantly to his question and he smiled.

“Come, my pet, let’s get you some water.”

He helped her to her feet gently, and cast a few cleaning charms on her skin, before he guided her down the hall. Hermione glanced behind her quickly to see only a blank wall. Had she been suspended in this hall all the time?

She stumbled as they went up the stairs taking in the shocking sight of her jean covered legs and trainer clad feet. She had clothes, how did she miss that? The man steadied her, but never broke his stride. She tried to keep up with him, to make him pleased with her, but it was difficult. Her legs were weak and she became tired easily. The man looked down at her briefly, before sighing and pulling her close to him.

 _Crack_.

The sickening sensation of side along apparition brought Hermione to her knees. The man let her kneel there, she could hear him move about the room, but she was too tired to move.

“Here. Drink.” He placed a glass of cold water in front of her. Hermione seized it with hands, prepared to guzzle down the precious liquid. She drank hurriedly, crying out when the glass was wrenched from her.

“Not so fast.” The man said sternly. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

Hermione nodded and he returned it to her. She took small sips as she gazed about the room. It was a study richly furnished with items of green and silver. Slytherin colours. Red eyes.

 _Thud_.

Water spilled from the glass onto the fine carpet, alerting the man to a change in Hermione.

“What is wrong, pet?”

Hermione struggled to make her voice work, her lips making the shape of his name frantically. 

“Vol-“ her voice cut off mid croak, her hands flying to her mouth as if to capture the single syllable.

“Figured out who I am, have you my dear?”

She nodded hesitantly.

He knelt once more in front of her, righting the glass and filling it once more.

“Are you afraid, little witch?”

She nodded, of course she was!

“Good. Fear keeps you strong, keeps you alive.”

She eyed him curiously.

“I told you, I want you to live. You have nothing to fear from me. Just let me take care of you.” 

She continued to look at him considering. Hesitantly she nodded, she would let him take care of her.

The Dark Lord smiled at her, brushing her cheek tenderly.

“Are you tired, pet?”

She nodded. Unused to the physical exercise and the emotional barrage of being out of the dark had left her exhausted.

He pulled her up gently, once more guiding her to the desired location. He opened a door behind the large mahogany desk to reveal a much larger room. Hermione’s tired eyes took in what looked to be a sitting area focused around a fireplace and walls covered with bookshelves. To the back of the room was a large bed with immaculate green sheets. At the foot of it was a smaller bed with a white coverlet edged with silver thread. 

The Lord, turned down the sheets of the small bed, before helping her out her trainers, her socks, followed by the rest of her clothes. She wanted to protest against being naked in his presence, a blush giving her pale face colour. He seemed unaffected by her modesty though, and swiftly conjured a green nightgown and pulled it over her head. Hermione smiled happily at the gesture.

“Bed now, my dear. It’s time for you to rest.”

She nodded and snuggled into the soft sheets, forming a cocoon of warmth around her.

The wizard brushed her hair away from her face gently and walked away. Hermione sighed contentedly and closed her eyes, welcoming the rush of sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

She woke to an empty room.

Her first thoughts were fearful. What if he forgot about her or one of his followers found her here? Would she be returned back to the dark?  
She thought herself round in circles before logic dispelled the dangerous thoughts. It was the Dark Lord, no mere Death Eater would be wondering around his private rooms. He wouldn’t forget about her either, hadn’t her visited her whilst she was in the dark?

Of course he had, she wasn’t going to be forgotten. She could rely on him now, so it was time to get out of bed and focus on her new situation.

So that’s what she did. With a determined shove at the covers she climbed out of the soft bed, ready to face the day.

She stood in her clean nightgown, scrunching her toes against the carpet, wondering what she should do now. 

The crisp white against the dark wood of the side table alerted her to the presence of the note. His writing was clear and concise, no needless strokes or hesitations, just as you would expect from so powerful a being. She nodded to herself as she went towards the bathroom, they were perfectly good instructions, shower and dress in the robes found in the bathroom. 

Logical, clear and easy to follow. Just what she needed.

As Hermione showered she considered her luck. He knew how to take care of her, already he had provided her with shelter, water and clothes. He could have tortured and degraded her. Instead, he was being, dare she think it, _kind_.

She delighted in the feeling of the warm water pounding at her skin, and was thrilled with the soapy bubbles covering her and getting rid of the dry skin. She felt warm, clean and happy. Just as he said she would. 

The towels were soft and fluffy, pleasantly drying her pink new skin. She giggled as the enchanted towels flicked her nose to get the small drips of water. 

The robes were an emerald green but looked to be far too big for her slight frame. Hermione frowned, but remembering the note, put them on regardless. She was right, and the emerald fabric swamped her. As if hearing her thoughts, the cloth suddenly started to move, refitting itself around her until it was the correct size. The mirror revealed the uniqueness of these robes however, Hermione remembered the baggy black ones forced on the Hogwarts students, but these were more form fitting. They revealed curves and a daring cleavage, whilst only going mid knee. Hermione wondered if there were any shoes to go with the beautiful outfit, but then, she thought, if they were needed they would be here. Her Lord said she could rely on him for everything, and that meant shoes as well.

With a nod to her reflection she walked out of the bathroom.

And promptly went still.

In the leather wing backed chair just left of the fire place sat the Dark Lord. She froze, unsure how to proceed. Should she go to him or stay still. He may want to be left alone, but what if she offends him by not greeting him. He had been so kind to her, she couldn’t be rude it return. These thoughts twisted round her mind, but despite knowing that she should move, take one step in his direction, she was completely frozen in place. He was the Dark Lord, and she was a Mudblood. She had no right to go near him without being told to first. Hermione was to look to him in all things, so surely if that included shoes it would include how he wanted her to behave in his presence.

“Why are you standing over there, little witch?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” She whispered in reply.

“I’ve brought you some food.”

He waved a hand, and a house-elf appeared carrying a silver tray. The small creature placed it on the table carefully, before disappearing with a hurried crack.  
He looked over at Hermione, still frozen over by the bathroom. The robes were beautiful on her, as he knew they would be, sophisticated and seductive, a fit combination for the conquered Gryffindor Princess.

“Won’t you sit with me?” he waved his hand once more, this time conjuring a small stall for her to sit on. It was the perfect height for her to be able to eat on the table, but would also show her place. After all, for all intents and purposes, the armchair was his throne and no one was to sit higher than the King.

Hermione knew this as she sat on the specially conjured stall, but she also knew that he could have just let her sit on the floor. He didn’t even have to give her food. He had proven that it was possible to keep her alive through Dark Magic. Once more, Hermione marveled, he was being generous and kind to one so below him. 

This close to him she could feel the waves of his magic brushing against her. She had been so tired last night she hadn’t noticed, but now she knew without a doubt that the entire war had been hopeless from the beginning. There was no way a teenaged boy would have been able to beat the being behind her now. 

Harry had died for nothing.

Unbidden tears pricked at her eyes, and tiny rivers flowed gently down her cheeks. The Lord behind her noticed, but chose to ignore them in favour of making his little witch eat. The task was unfamiliar to her body after so long spent in isolation, and soon she could only focus on bring food to her lips rather than things she could not change. 

Eventually she had to stop, the plate in front of her only half eaten.

“Do you not like it?” her Lord asked quietly. His hand settled in her hair, teasing it lightly with his fingers, affection and control all in one small movement.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered once more, unable to raise her voice any louder. “I can’t eat any more.”

The movement in her hair stopped, and Hermione was terrified she’d displeased him, but then it lightly continued and she relaxed.

“My apologies, little witch, I should have had them make something lighter.”

His words struck her as wrong and she twisted round, falling to her knees beside him and dislodging his hand with her movements.

“No, it was lovely!” she protested. “You’ve given me so much already, you shouldn’t have to be sorry for this.”

Her Lord smiled at her, replacing his hand back in her hair, watching the bliss in her eyes grow as he petted her ever so gently. 

“I’m so thankful to you.” She continued, daring to inch closer to the man with so much power over her. 

“I am a merciful Lord.” He told her, his voice as gentle as his hands. “And I look after my pets.”

“Pets?” she repeated with a frown, recalling him using that term a few times before.

“Don’t you want to be my pet?” he cajoled her, still lightly stroking her hair. “Don’t you want to be taken care of, to be protected and happy? Haven’t you spent this day completely happy knowing that you can rely on me for all things?”

Hermione nodded, there was no point in arguing with truth.

“I can give you endless days of that joy, if you just obey me in all things.”

Hermione looked into his ruby eyes, losing herself in the richness of the colour and soothing movement of his hand in her hair. 

Really there was no choice in the matter.

Whether she liked it or not, she was already his Pet.

And it didn’t bother her at all.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione’s days quickly became a fixed routine.

When she woke she would always be alone in the room, and a note containing instructions would be present on the mahogany side table. 

These instructions insisted that she began her day by showering and brushing her teeth, before dressing in the robes she would find in the bathroom. The robes themselves were generally the same style as the first pair, but would vary in colour. He never dressed her in Gryffindor colours however, preferring instead to place her in the colours of his own house or that of Ravenclaw. Sometimes though Hermione would be shocked to find robes that were a pale pink or royal purple. Once there was even a pair of robes patterned with stars. To Hermione each robe was special, regardless of the colour. They were gifts from her Lord. 

After she had showered and dressed, she was expected to sit on her stall and wait. The Dark Lord always joined her for breakfast, unless the note stated otherwise. He would sit behind her in the large arm chair and watch as she ate, making sure she got the correct nutrition. He didn’t make the same mistake as the first night again, and the meals were always light enough that Hermione could eat without any trouble. As her stomach started getting used to solid foods however, the meals were becoming more substantial. 

After breakfast her Lord would leave again, and would not return until dark fell. Hermione was always afraid that he would not return at these times, and she would be left to face the night alone. If it wasn’t for his presence in the bed above her, Hermione doubted she’d be able to sleep. 

For the first few days Hermione explored the rooms she was confined to. Next to the large bedroom and sitting area, there was a small kitchenette that unfortunately held no food. There was the bathroom that Hermione used every day as well as a very large library. Hermione didn’t go in there. Something told her that she needed permission and she didn’t want to incur the wrath of her Lord. 

She tried to touch one of the books in the main room before, but received a sharp shock instead. It left a shiny red burn on her hand that throbbed incessantly even after she’d put it under cold water. She had to ignore it the entire day, before the Dark Lord returned to the rooms to have dinner with her in the same seats as breakfast. He had noticed her discomfort immediately and had demanded to know how she had received the burn.

Hermione had tears in her eyes as she told him about touching the bookshelves. She had upset him and she was so sorry. The one thing she had to do was obey and she couldn’t even do that properly. 

Her Lord frowned down at her before sighing and leaning back on his chair. Hermione stared wide eyed at his prone form, too terrified to move.

“Go to bed.” He told her eventually.

Hermione blinked, and fat tears rolled down her face. He looked down at her sternly.

“You touched what didn’t belong to you. For that, you will go to bed with no dinner. Now.”

Hermione nodded and silently padded over to her bed before changing into her nightgown. She no longer had any reservations about changing in front of him. He was her Lord. He owned her. And although she was being punished, even now he was showing that he cared. After all, if he didn’t, why bother to correct her behavior instead of ending her on the spot. She was sure he had killed for less. 

She slept fretfully that night, the pain in her hand and the rumblings of her stomach keeping her close to waking.

However, when she woke the next morning her hand was healed.


	6. Chapter 6

A single day had passed since Hermione had burned her hand.

She showered and dressed, just as she did every morning, and exited the bathroom expecting to see her Lord.

She halted at the sight of the empty room. 

It was exactly how she left it. Her Lord wasn’t there.

Her eyes darted from side to side, frantically checking that he wasn’t simply in another part of his large quarters. 

It was futile though. The overwhelming sense of power that accompanied him wherever he went was not present, and so neither was he.

Her darting eyes did pick up one change however.

A new note rested on the mahogany table.

She scanned the words carefully, searching for some sign of annoyance or anger from her Lord. Finding none she relaxed, and began to follow his instructions. 

She walked into the library hesitantly, double checking her orders to make sure this was allowed. She gasped in wonder as she entered the room fully, amazed at the sheer number of books. She wanted nothing more than to run over to the nearest shelf and bury herself in the smell of old parchment and knowledge. She resisted the urge however. 

Her orders were clear. 

She was only to touch the books on the bottom shelf of the third bookcase on the left. All others were out of bounds. 

She approached her designated space happily, gazing at the three large tomes placed neatly together.

She touched them reverently, sighing with pleasure at the feel of old leather against her fingertips.

She plopped down on the carpeted floor and selected one book, content to read away her day alone on the library floor.

~*~

The familiar feel of his aura sweeping through his rooms roused Hermione from the second book. She placed it carefully back in its place, before hurrying to greet him. 

He smiled when he saw her, obviously pleased to be seeing her enjoy his generosity. 

“Did you enjoy the books?” he asked.

She nodded vigorously.

“Speak, pet.”

Hermione paused, the last time she had spoken to him it was to reveal her misdeeds.

“Y-yes.”

“Yes what, pet?” he reached out to stroke her cheek, and she trembled under his attentions.

“Y-yes, sir?”

He shook his head sadly, and Hermione felt a rush of disappointment and shame for letting him down again so soon after her last infraction.

“Master?” she whispered, the word feeling right in her heart. He was her Lord, he owned her, took care of her. What else could be but her Master?

His hand moved from her cheek to stroke her hair tenderly.

“That’s right pet, that’s what all good pets call their owners.” He looked at her considering, seeing that shade of fear in her eyes and seizing it. “You want to be a good pet and stay with me, don’t you little witch?”

Hermione shook violently, tears welling in her eyes at the prospect of being sent away from him. 

“Please don’t send me away Master,” she pleaded.

“Only if you are a very bad pet.” He assured her, releasing her and turning to sit in his chair. Hermione stood frozen, her mind reeling. She had to be good. She couldn’t be sent away. Never would she return to her world of darkness. He was her salvation, she had to be close to him.

“Master? How do I be a good pet?”

“Come kneel by my chair, pet.” 

She obeyed immediately, staring up at him patiently. 

“You are such a good pet already,” he praised, “to please me all you must do is obey, and that is something you do so wonderfully. I reward well-behaved little witches, like with books.” He frowned at her, seizing her hair to force her to look at him, “but disobey me and I’ll be forced to punish you, and it won’t be as pleasant as being sent to bed with no supper.”

A thrill of fear shot through her at his words, but at the same time she calmed. Punishments meant correction, and correction meant she could continue to be good. She was determined to never leave her Master.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione was content.

That is not to say she did not suffer any frustrations with her life, but for the most part she experienced nothing but contentment. 

Every day she showered and ate breakfast with her Master. Her stool was gone, she now kneeled by him. He would run his hand through her hair and she would relax completely against him, taking comfort in his presence.

These times were always too short in her opinion though. He would leave and then Hermione would go to library. There was usually a new book waiting for her every day and it would be something sure to delight and inspire her. Usually she would find herself absorbed immediately, ignoring the discomfort of the library floor.

Sometimes though she would find herself staring out of the single window in the library. She hadn’t seen the sun in so long. Her skin was almost as pale as her Master’s, and Hermione found herself wishing for a way outside.

She had asked her Master once if she could go outside, but he had told her no. he told her that it was too dangerous and that there were people out there who would seek to hurt her or separate them. Hermione promised him she wouldn’t search for a way out, she wouldn’t leave him. he had simply smiled at her, before tucking her into her soft white bed.   
Other times they would talk about the books he had given her, about what she understood and what she didn’t. They even debated some points. Her Master encouraged her to learn and to challenge what she learned. She enjoyed their chats and looked forward to his presence continuously. 

He was her whole world.

~*~

She had been reading in the library when he entered.

She hurried towards him, confused by the erratic pulses of power beating against her. 

She entered the room and promptly fell down screaming.

The pain was immense, far more than what Bellatrix had inflicted on her. She screamed and screamed, unable to get the image of her Master’s furious face from her mind. 

The agony vanished as suddenly as it had overcome her, and she was left panting against the carpet. She was trembling and felt as weak as new born kitten. She tried to move but groaned as her muscles protested. She continued on stubbornly however, she had to go greet her Master. 

She cried out as strong arms carried her across the room, her entire body screaming at the movement. She looked up blearily, stunned to see red eyes looking back at her. He held on to her tightly as he ran the bath, placing her in the warm sudsy water gently.

He removed her robes as she lay limply in the slowly filling tub. 

Hermione watched him move around the bathroom, putting her clothes in the hamper, and grabbing a wash cloth. He rubbed the soft over it, before running it over her weak limbs. She sighed with bliss at his ministrations. 

“Are you alright?” his quiet voice was loud in the near silent bathroom.

“Yes, Master.” She breathed.

He looked at her sharply.

“Don’t lie to me.”

She shook her head weakly. “I’m not lying. I am alright. It’s ok, because I’m a good pet.”

She smiled at him until he nodded and continued to wash her, before massaging her abused limbs.

Hermione relaxed underneath his hands, trusting her entire being to him.


	8. Chapter 8

She woke in her own bed, her muscles groaning and twitching with each movement she made. She wanted nothing more than to stay in bed, but she had to see what orders she had today from her Master. Maybe it would tell her why he was so angry. 

Hands pushed her back down.

“Master?” 

“Rest, pet.”

“But-“

“Don’t disobey me, little witch. Your muscles took heavy curse damage yesterday. They need to recover.” 

Hermione relaxed in his grip.

“Yes, Master.”

~*~

“Come here, little witch.”

Her Master stood next to the door to his study, the only way out of the rooms that had become Hermione’s world and prison. 

She was cowering by the bathroom door, as far as she could get from the exit she both feared and craved. 

Her Master frowned, clearly annoyed. She inched forward a little bit on seeing this, but not enough to satisfy him.

“Pet. Get here,” he pointed at his feet, “now.” 

She straightened at his tone and scurried over to him immediately, falling to her knees at his feet.

His eyes softened slightly at the sight of her bowed head and quivering form, before he remembered the cause of his annoyance .

“We’re going out.”

Hermione peered up at him worriedly.

“Don’t be alarmed, no one will hurt you.”

She nodded in acceptance, slowly getting to her feet whilst keeping her eyes down. 

The study door opened, and her Master stepped through. Hermione looked over the threshold at her Master, who stood silently watching her.

She took a breath and stepped over. 

She panicked.

What in the name of Merlin was she doing inside her Master’s study? She had no right to be in here. She reached out blindly, her hands grabbed soft cloth and she buried her face in it. The arms of her Master encircled her and she breathed in the smell of power and magic. 

“I’m sorry Master.” She whimpered against his robes.

“It’s alright pet, I told you to always rely on me and that includes times like this.”

“Thank you Master.”

Her Master led her from the room, but allowed her to keep a hold of his robes.

They walked through opulent corridors towards a large hall shrouded in blackness. The focus of the room centred towards an ornate dais flanked by striking basilisks. He escorted her up the steps, gesturing for her to kneel by his throne. She did so cautiously, not stopping her frantic examination of the room. It appeared empty, but the shadows were long and could hide who knew how many people.

A warm weight rested on her head, long fingers burying themselves in her stubborn curls. She relaxed at his familiar touch. Her Master was here. No harm could befall her.   
Robed men spilled in from the corners of the room, their black cloaks making them one with the dark décor. As one they fell to their knees at the sight of the Dark Lord. His power swept over and through them all, Hermione sighed in delight at the feel of it. To her it was a sign that she was safe and cared for. For her there was none of the fear that had the lower ranked Death Eaters shivering. 

“Bring in the prisoners.” His voice was cold and sharp, so different to how he was with her. With her he was calm and understanding. This was the Dark Lord that the rest of the world saw. Hermione felt privileged that she saw other sides to him. 

Four people shuffled in. They were shackled and bore evidence of torture. Hermione regarded them with only mild interest, wondering if these four were the cause of her Master’s ire, focusing only on the hand stroking her hair. 

One prisoner dared to look up at the dais, refusing to avert his eyes from the ruler of Magical Britain. 

“Mione?” he whispered in shock. In the silent room his words were like a gun shot, and Hermione stiffened. She knew that voice, and now that she properly looked at the beaten prisoners she realised she knew them all. 

_Bill Weasley_.

 

 _Fleur Delacour_.

 _Nymphadora Tonks_.

 _Oliver Wood_.

Her chest contracted, she couldn’t get enough air. No, they couldn’t be here. She had mourned her friends, mourned them all. They were all dead.

But here they were, alive and at the mercy of the one she called Master.

Fat tears rolled down her face as she faced them, their shocked eyes like daggers to her heart. They had mourned her too, she realised. Her sobs grew in the silent room, and they only increased when her Master lifted her to sit on his lap. She turned and buried her face in his robes begging for him to show mercy on her friends.

His hands rubbed her back soothingly, the smell of power and magic ensconcing her in warmth. It was in that moment that she knew without a doubt that to leave her Master would cripple her completely. 

Her sobs returned anew as she threw away any dreams of the outside, or chats with her friends. For her life would revolve around the one being that made up her entire world.   
The intensity of her revelation scared her somewhat, and somewhere in her mind she wondered if this was what love felt like. An all-encompassing need to be with that person, to make that person happy, to rely on them. 

Bill looked at the display of affection with disgust, something which did not go unnoticed by the Dark Lord. 

“Now do you see why your little rescue attempt was useless?” Her Master’s voice was quiet. There was no threat in his voice, no victory, only a quiet stating of facts. “She doesn’t want to leave.”

“Please don’t hurt them.” The Dark Lord’s pet begged in a voice only he could hear.

He looked over the rebels considering, musing that it only really took one to carry a message. He glanced down at the fragile little witch in his arms and something in his heart softened. He was not a good man, nowhere near in fact, and she was nothing but a pet to be used for his own gains. But something about the vulnerable woman tormented him. She trusted and relied on him in all things, and what had she said that night he cursed her in his rage? That it was okay, because she was a good pet. His own words came back to him, good pets were rewarded. 

“She begs for your safety,” he told the prisoners, blood traitors all. He paused, once more reflecting on the wisdom of his decision. 

“Let them go,” he said eventually, “my pet deserves a reward.”

He swept out of the room, not bothering to see that the prisoners were escorted out. His orders would be followed. His words were law.

Hermione was vaguely aware of her Master carrying her in his arms, but she could do nothing but sob and thank him, laying little kisses over his shoulder and exposed neck. She didn’t notice her Master’s shiver at her actions. 

They reached his rooms, but her Master did not let go of his precious pet.

“Hush now, Hermione, they have been set free and will never seek to separate us again.”

 _Hermione_..

Her Master had spoken her name.

She raised her head from his shoulder to look at him with shining eyes.

“Promise, Master?” she whispered.

“You are mine now Hermione, my pet. I collected you from the battle field and have given your life safety and happiness. I am a generous lord.”

Hermione smiled happily at him, and returned to her spot against his shoulder, snuggling against the fabric and running her nose against his neck.

The Dark Lord allowed a smile to creep across his face at her actions.

She was his, his pet, and now the key to the destruction of the rebels. Her devotion to him was so apparent, that they would not fight him again. Not after the sight of their precious Gryffindor Princess clad in green and flanked by snakes, willingly resting against the most dangerous of them all. 

Lord Voldemort had been a patient man with the little witch, but now it was time to fully reap his spoils of war.


End file.
